Not sure if anyone has seen a couple of the big women's basketball tournament snafu stories in the news this week... but one of them set me on a course of PTSD, and the other was infuriating in all the wrong ways, but also put me in the mind of a story that's near to my heart on a number of levels.
Yes, I know I said I was sick of my own stories... but I'm making a brief exception. 😉
First, the issue in Portland with the three-point lines. It turns out that several tournament games were played with different three-point differences at each end of the court! I believe it was off by nine-inches.
The art most media was running was of either a site or NCAA official on his knees with that sassafrassing big orange tape measure, confirming the issue.
I have absolutely no idea how this could happen. I can tell you from first-hand experience this is something, as someone who has run a regional, you check several times... starting as soon as the floor is put down (so in some cases, that can be WEEKS in advance, in a multi-purpose arena, that can be only several days in advance, but still...)
And in addition, you do a final walk-through with the NCAA the "night" before. I put "night" in quotes, because when I saw that poor soul on his knees with that tape measure, I can remember doing that same thing as the final act I did before heading home to change clothes and return for the first of four straight 20-hour days.
The time I did this? 3 AM. And then I was back at the arena at 5 AM. And oh, by the way, at 5:30 AM I got a phone call from my sister that my mother had had a heart attack... but that's another story.... So yeah, PTSD.
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The second story is from this morning. At media availability yesterday, there's all this video of Caitlin Clark —- the best women's player on the planet — doing her presser with the sound of forklifts backing up behind her and the hum of trucks going back and forth.
A media member had the audacity to report about this failure, and the response from the NCAA was less than great: "You are the only one to even complain about this. No one else had a problem."
Which is basically the way the old man in the amusement park responded when the kids from Scooby Doo caught him as the Ferris Wheel Killer "I would have gotten away with it too, if not for you pesky kids.."
Sheesh.
I know, some arenas are smaller than others. Finding space for everything, including all the break-out rooms you need for all these media avails, plus about 30-other required spaces you need, is sometimes nearly impossible.
But the response is to acknowledge the issue, and say you will try to address it. Period.
Take responsibility. There are other ways to go, but BLAMING the reporter is NOT one of them.
It reminded me of this story:
We were hosting an NCAA tournament, this particular year was hockey, not basketball. The regional final game was won in the last minute on a game-winning goal. Exciting stuff, right? Well, heart-breaking too, for the other team.
There was slight glitch. Our stat crew (there are six people who comprise the statistics crew, inputting and tracking all the stats, for both teams, which are streamed live on the internet as well as in the arena to all media), in all the excitement, attributed the goal to #32 (I think) - but it was #32 on the WRONG team.
The error was caught, almost immediately. Like 45-50 seconds later, and corrected.
But for 45 seconds or so, we had a "Dewey Beats Truman" thing — thousands of people saw it (potentially), as well as the media.
Now, live stats say right on them "not official" — so it shouldn't have been a thing.
But 10 minutes later, one of my assistants came running to me in a panic. A reporter from a BIG regional/national paper who was live in the arena noticed it, and wanted to write about it. He thought it was an amusing story.
He, like the Caitlin Clark complainer, was "the only one."
So I asked if he could come talk to me in private (and my assistant tagged along).
Now I've known this reporter for 20 years at this point. We had a very good relationship. I certainly could have mentioned that, leveraged it. I also could have offered him something in exchange for dropping the story.
I could also have pulled the "this is ridiculous" tactic.
Instead, I just told him that this might be the greatest moment in the life of the kid who scored the winning goal. That whole team, for them this might be the night they remember all their life - making the Frozen Four.
And for the other team, it's an awfully sad night.
To write this story, you're going to pull focus from the former, and you're going to make the latter answer more questions. People are going to go up to the OTHER #32 and get quotes from him, they're going to have to... and that's harsh.
Plus, you're going to want the tic toc for what happened, and all we're going to let you know was that it was a statistical error and you're going to use my name and blame me. I'm not going let you make fun of a kid we're paying $50 a night.
But, I told him, if you want to do that, other than giving you the name of the kid, we will get you any/everything you need.
He shook his head, shook my hand and told me I was right, it was a "nothing burger" and the game was enough.
My assistant asked me WHY I didn't trade on knowing him for 20+ years. And I told him that the relationships you make with people inform every interaction, you don't have to talk about them.
And as for why I didn't offer anything. He knew I was offering my gratitude. Which was something. And he also knew that I felt like I owed him one going forward.
Of course what he didn't know, what no one knew... was that the next day I'd be going into my bosses office and announcing that I'd be going on short term disability for my migraines.
That whole tournament I was running back and forth to the bathroom and throwing up. And chewing Vicodin like tictacs.
So that is why that whole thing is particularly memorable.
End of ramble.
Enjoy a great weekend of basketball everyone!
Love,
Allie
